Dalarik 'Phantom' Broethn's Legacy
by Master Fearlian
Summary: A story set in the world of Oblivion about "The Phantom."
1. Chapter One

My first story. :) I hope you enjoy. Comments are welcome and highly appreciated! -Master Fearlian

Dodge here, dash there. So was the work of the thief.

The thief was no more than a beggar, a sewer rat at best. Stealing bread from the local inn and swindling gold pieces from the pockets of innocent people, the thief was as his title implied; a thief.

Wearing a light brown leather vest and the same color in leather chaps, this thief looked to be a normal hunter; one returned from the wilderness and the dangers to buy supplies. But this thief was no hunter, but merely a predator in the people's midst.

The thief was dashing, running from his stalker. While surveying the latest house he wished to burglarize, the thief felt a bone-chilling cold begin to surround him. Panicking, he departed from his target and began to slip away. Yet, the chill did not seep away, yet grow more confident in surrounding the thief. The thief, sensing that his presence was being marked, dashed from the Elven District of the Imperial City and slipped into the Market District. He turned down an alley and, upon seeing a sewer grate, leaped courageously into the dark sewers.

The sewer air was as chilled as the night air above, and the thief began to think his fleeing pointless. With dual daggers unsheathed, the thief put his back to a corner and did the only thing he knew how to do; hide and wait.

After many long, silent and cold moments, the thief was terrified that his pursuer knew where he was and was merely waiting for him. With a bold battle cry the high elf thief leaped from the shadows, daggers out, and crouched at the ready for a fight.

The Phantom stepped out from behind the thief, having waited in the same corner that the thief had put his back to, and stood in front of the thief.

The thief, instantly paralyzed from the neck down by The Phantom, stared, astonished and terrified. "Wha-..? Who are you?"

"I am the Phantom, and your Reaper." And with those few words The Phantom pulled a small knife from inside the sleeve on his midnight-black robe and silenced the thief forever...


	2. Chapter Two

It is the first of the year, the year being 3E 433. The air is crisp with the remnants of Winter's Touch. The sun shines bright in the sky over the Imperial City, yet the snow never leaves the roofs. The beggars stand hundled near one another, grasping for the only warmth they can afford; each other.

Merchants move from one side of the city to the other; buying from the hunters and craftsmen.

One particular Merchant, Thoronir, the owner of The Copious Coinpurse, travels through the streets, meeting with the afore mentioned selection of people. His forehead beads with sweat, despite the chilling temperature. He mutters to himself, "Blasted ghosts and apparitions.. I know what I have done, but leave me be! I cannot even find peace during the day.. Bless me Azura!" He shakes his shoulders, as if trying to brush something off as he continues on his way.

Behind him, a shadow shifts, ever so slightly.  
Thoronir slips behind Rindir's Staffs, looking up and down the street before he does so. He pulls his jacket closer to himself, making it obvious that the cold is beginning to affect him. A man awaits him there, appearing to be quite restless. The man, a Nord, says "Thoronir, you bloke, hurry up. I maybe a Nord, but this cold is chilling to even my thick bones!" "Y-yes sir. W-what do you have for me this time Agarmir?" Replies Thoronir.  
Agarmir growls, "I told you, don't speak my name here.. And yes, peasant, I brought the items. Do you have my usual fee?"  
A shadow twitches slightly at the edge of the small garden they stand in. Thoronir looks at it from the corner of his eye, but seems to ignore it. "Yes, I have the gold.. Here, take it." He tosses Agarmir the bag, and the Nord in turn tosses Thoronir a bag. As Thoronir catches it, the bag jingles with what one would assume the sound of jewels would sound like it. "Now get out of my sight, Thoronir." With that, Thoronir scurries back to his store, all the while a shadow following him..

Back in his store, Thoronir goes to his chest and tosses the bag in. With a relief filled sigh, he returns behind the counter and sits in his chair. Before he has the chance to stretch out and relax, the shadow that had been, well, shadowing him, emerges into a dark clothed man, his face abscured by his equally dark hood.  
"Tsktsk, Thoronir. Your life has become quite corrupted.." The person, obviously male, says. "This world does not need more evil people.."  
Thoronir goes stiff with fear. "No. Please! I didn't do a thing! Why are you here!" His voice strains with the fear of this.. creature.  
"You take from a thief, Thoronir. Don't play coy with me. You know exactly why I am here." The man pulls from his sleeve a slender ebony dagger; the hilt sculpted uniquely. "I am here to rid Cyrodill of you.."  
Thoronir stands and, with an attempt at determination, pulls a sword off the wall. "Well.. You won't kill me without resistance!" He leaps at the stranger, sword stabbing towards the man's stomach.  
Just as the sword appears that it will make contact, the man vanishes and appears to the periphery of Thoronir's vision.. As the dagger slices Thoronir, mid-lunge. He falls to the floor, his breathing already sounding chocked, blood gurgling from the wound. The man crouches and whispers, "The world will be far better without you.." The man places a palm on Thoronir's already-pale cheek. Using magic, he burns the image of a black dagger into Thoronir's cheek, and vanishes.. 


End file.
